


Defenseless

by Hipsterian



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: M/M, Minho gets into a stunt, Scandal AU, publicist Jinwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hipsterian/pseuds/Hipsterian
Summary: Minho gets into a dating scandal.Jinwoo has to clean up the disaster.
Relationships: Kim Jinwoo/Song Minho | Mino, Lee Seunghoon/Kang Seungyoon
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Thanks for giving this story a go ~  
> As usual, English is not my native tongue, so sorry for all the mistakes you will find in there.  
> I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this.

Defenseless

“We got a new client coming,” Seunghoon says. He has just ended a call and now he is smiling at him.

“Please, don’t let it be Song Minho,” Jinwoo pleads, walking towards Seunghoon’s desk, sitting on the chair in front of him.

“Indeed, it’s Song Minho but, why not him? Do you have something against him?” he wonders, still smirking, raising his perfectly crafted brows inquiringly.

“I only know what’s on the press,” he says, honestly. He is not much of an idols person, he only likes IU, and, fortunately for him, she has never been in any scandal that he had to fix. GD, the other exception, is very much out of their company’s league – Jinwoo is more than happy to assist only to their concerts if that means that they are out of trouble.

Song Minho’s case, though, is tricky. Dating rumors are hard to fight – most idols never recover from them, falling into disgrace in the worse instance.

As far as Jinwoo is aware, Song Minho, a raising idol rapper from a popular company has been caught with a lady. Five different outlines have posted the pictorial with a brief explanation. Thousands of fans have deserted him, his social media accounts are flooded with hate – and some supporting comments. Cleaning his name after this would be tough and complicated, reverting the situation, mission impossible – trying to push another scandal for citizens to forget, the only wise thing to do but, sadly, their company is small and they don’t have other stunts to put on to cover this.

And, since he is tracking fame, his name will be dragged on the mood, will be out in the mouth of all the press and journalists, they won’t let it rest until leeching everything, until milking it dry – until they don’t get any more clickbait headlines or money out of him. Silencing such a media case, out on the wind... there is nothing to do, nothing in Jinwoo’s power and talent and hard work to enable it, its magnitude too big for such a tiny company, escaping their capacities.

Jinwoo likes to help his clients to recover after the fall to disgrace, but he doesn’t deal with idols – too fragile, too complex, too many people involved; that’s Seunghoon’s field, he does relaunches of forgotten actors, brings up old names, back to hit fame again. Gives them some simple charities to support, some advertisement campaign – nothing big or fancy, just enough for their names to emerge back to the surface.

“Why did you accept him?” Jinwoo cries out, ruffling his hair, already stressed. He knows that he will have to handle it, that Seunghoon has enough work on his plate – that he is already taking anti-anxiety pills to survive.

“Because he called us,” as simple as it is, it has to be more to it. Minho is important enough to get covered by a more experimented publicist company that it’s not LeeKim S.L – though taking in a big profile like him would launch their firm, get more clients coming but that only in the remote, nearly impossible case they can deal with Minho’s situation, relapses it. Jinwoo looks at Seunghoon suspiciously, aware that there is something fishy, something funny in between that he is not telling him. Seunghoon shrugs. “He owes me, so instead of going to another firm, he is stuck with us. So, please, do your best to charm him, just in case we can’t help him further,” he adds, surrendering, smirking.

“I’m not going to seduce a client. I did it once to save us from going to the court!” Jinwoo restores, rolling his eyes. “And it was pretty disgusting, you know he put his tongue deep in my throat,” he recalls, softly laughing. He doesn’t want the situation to be repeated – he doesn’t want to get involved with anyone, client or friend.

“You’ll have to take him,” he says with a hint of something else, his eyes lightening under the cloudy Monday afternoon, the sun shading the sky in hues of red and blue, agonizing in the faraway horizon, slowly withering, bending to the moon rising above it. “Because I have to leave now,” he adds, looking at his watch, “Seungyoon has rehab in ten and I’m already late,” he says, apologetic. Jinwoo can’t be mad at his friend for leaving early, for leaving him alone to deal with whatever is to come because Seungyoon, Seunghoon’s boyfriend, has had a car accident on his driving training and he has to take care of him – and Jinwoo has to mind the company on his absence.

“Send my best regards to him,” he waves him off, leaving his tiny office.

“Oh, Song Minho will be here in five!” he yells, busy pushing a stack of papers inside his leather bag, rushing to the door, to the afternoon that is still buzzing, alive, on the outside.

Jinwoo splashes some freshwater on his face, brushes his hair back in place, and waits for Song Minho to come over, gathering all the information available. In a few minutes he has a board understanding of what is going one with him and he has accomplished to look professional and ready despite the hot stickiness that comes from the humid sunset and that makes his face sweaty– his eyes are clean and focus, the red rim covered with makeup, his lips glossed and his smile in place prepared to greet a new client. He re-read the report he has managed to type down hurriedly and takes a few extra notes just to be sure he has all the data collected, all the facts he might need to work on this.

There is a knock on the door, a small face peeking. He doesn’t do justice to the pictures – in photographs, Minho looks hazard, board, dangerous but the man in front of him is not intimidating at all, not when he smiles shyly at him, bowing politely. He has the aura, of course, powerful and charming, with glimmering, sparkling eyes and little dimples on his cheeks, borderline cute but still an idol even when he is wearing nothing fancy – and maybe Jinwoo doesn’t know a thing about trends and fashion but a pair of jeans, a shirt under a cardigan is something he would wear on the daily (it is something he is nearly sporting right now but, instead of a cardigan he is wearing a blazer). The only sign of him being famous is his scandalous bright blonde that could blind the sun alone.

“Sorry for coming to you with so sort notice,” he says, shaking his hand politely. He smiles at him and it is warm, natural. Jinwoo has worked with idols at the beginning of his career but none come close to Minho’s kindle greeting which means a lot. At least Jinwoo has a good first impression of him which helps him relax, trying to block out all of his prejudices against idols – troublemakers all the time.

“So, what’s the story?” Jinwoo gestures for him to take a seat and he takes a pen and paper and gets ready to work with him. He doesn’t do pleasantly conversation – not this late, not when he wants to go back home, exhausted, drained after hours working with people walking on eggshells and broken glasses, on the edge of the cliff, hanging, waiting to be rescued by him.

Minho resumes him what he already knows: Dispatch took a shot of him with a girl, sold it as a dating scandal to everybody who wanted to buy it. On top of that, the alluded girl has jumped into the fame wagon revealing that they were, indeed, dating without leaving time to Minho to refuse the allegations. So now he is caught in the middle of the storm, in a scandal that hasn’t even happened, to begin with, the press following him around, releasing statements about his unexpected romance with a girl whose name is now trending topic, her career rocket-propelled up to the highest places – and how unfair it is that a scandal is getting her up and dragging him down.

“Are you two dating?” Jinwoo knows the answer but has to ask anyway, ensuring that he has all the data, all the details to come up with a plan.

“I don’t even know her.” he replies, perplexed, eyes round and big and shocked, “and I don’t do girls,” he adds, sotto voce.

“Ok,” Jinwoo says taking notes and nodding to the papers on his desk. When he looks up Minho has a sour expression, one that expresses regret for what he has just said – and Jinwoo understands why.- Jinwoo takes a second to think of something to say to him, to reassure him – he won’t air his sexuality, he won’t be the talk of the town due to this (he already is, credits to his own persona), this is all strictly confidential. “I hope you know that you can trust me. I’m not going to expose anything you say to me,” he explains, a hand covering Minho’s, a kind gesture to provide him with some solace, to shield him from more pain – a promise that he is not alone. “Then, isn’t she a cover-up?” he tilts his head, watching Minho sideway, his expression is of utmost terror.

“No! I’m not seeing anyone. I haven’t in years,” he explains, hands brushing his receding hair – and Jinwoo feels the empty space beneath his palm. “The girl on the pictures it’s my sister, Danha,” he continues, pointing at the papers on Jinwoo’s desk. The shoot shows only their backs but Minho is so easily recognizable: yellow neon hair and clothes no-one else would dare to pull up together. But the girl could be anyone. Brown, long hair, a cap, a bit of a profile, but nothing definitively, remarkable. But some desperate attention seeker – someone who isn’t afraid of any kind of black-lash, someone in need of a stunt to refloat her career - has admitted to being that girl and so the show has begun.

Minho could have refused the claiming, proving it to be fake, but the press went mental over it, like hyenas, feral to ruin someone’s reputation. And Minho was the perfect victim; he stayed still, said nothing and then, when he reacted, it was all too late, his name was everywhere, dragged, observed, criticized. Some showed support – fans, mostly, - but the majority of the citizen were shocked and they all loved a good scandal to break up the monotony, to throw shame to someone: a circus to have fun while damaging someone’s image, someone’s reputation – as if dating was a crime. And this was the perfect example.

That was when he finally contacted them – but the damage was already done.

Jinwoo takes a look at the press coverture: massive. He is the first page in all the gossip magazines, journalist are scrutinizing all of his movements, there is already an interview with his alleged girlfriend who is revealing some juicy comments, none of them real. It is impossible to stop.

“Let me be frank, Song Minho, this is going to be hard. No way we can stop this. It’s out, everywhere. I can make some calls, chill out some news, but the water is turbulent and it’s going to be a wild ride,” he exposes quickly, he doesn’t want to give him false hopes. But Minho endures the truth better than others have, nodding, understanding. Changing the general public’s view will be complicated so they better focus on his fans. He wants to preserve them so the campaign they will launch, tailored exclusively for Minho, will keep them in mind. Jinwoo will come up with a solid plan to reverse the situation. “But I think we can do something. Is your sister a public image?” he asks, scribbling on a paper.

“No,” he says, raising a nearly invisible brown.

“Does she want to be?”

“I don’t think so. And I don’t want my family involved,” Minho says fiercely, protectively. Jinwoo nods. “Please,” he adds, always polite. Jinwoo nods – of course, no-one would like to drag their family into a stunt if avoidable.

“Does your sister have Instagram?” Jinwoo smiles at him reassuringly and Minho relaxes for a brief moment, holding his warm glance, smiling slowly back at him.

“She does but, why?” he replies, his voice unsure, not following Jinwoo’s thoughts.

“I’ll need access to it. Her username and password. I’ll make a contract for it, don’t worry, everything legal,” he says, already on his computer, typing fast. In two minutes, Minho has a contract in front of him and an outline of Jinwoo’s ideas. He reads it carefully.

Granted access to his sister’s accounts, familiar pictures, him to not speak with anyone about the subject. He doesn’t see where this will go but he likes how Jinwoo has conceived this in no time.

“So, how is this going to work?” he asks, more curious than invested – he needs to speak with Dannha first before agreeing on it.

“So we will leak her Instagram. People will find out that you have a sister. Because, I can see she never tagged you, so there is no trace there,” he says, scrolling down Dannha’s Instagram, showing him. “We will need some happy family pictures. You post something about your childhood. Fans take the bail, follow the dots and they discover that you have a sister. And that said sister is the woman you were caught out with. End of the problem.”

That sounds so effective. Jinwoo hasn’t finished the explanation as Minho is already signing it. After handing the contract back to Jinwoo, he fishes his phone from his LV handbag and makes a call.

“Dannha, I need you to provide access to your Instagram account. It’s for covering up the mess. If you agree, of course, no pressure”, there is a bit of back and forth conversation that Jinwoo tries to follow and then Minho hangs out, looking straight at him. “She agreed. But she wants a copy of the contract and all that you will do on her behalf,” he asks, writing down the password on a post-it, scribbling fast.

“I’m on it,” Jinwoo says, already sending her the details to the email Minho has provided. Minho grins at him, half assured that his controversy will die soon, half allured by how diligent Jinwoo is, how he has come up with this idea on the spot, how beautiful his smile is, how good and kind he seems to be – warm, sincere, with a soothing voice and stellar eyes that shimmer while thinking, like almonds, wrinkling while typing, concentrated. He likes him very much, the way he works, the words he says.

“So now we are exclusive,” Jinwoo says, shaking his hand.

“I like how it sounds,” Minho replies, smirking. His voice is electrifying, throws shivers down Jinwoo’s spine, brights the sky of his life for a second, and, then, he is smiling back at him, shimmering.

“I’ll e-mail you the plan later on with the fare,” he says, professional again, all traces of gleam fading away.

“Ok, I’ll be waiting for it, to see how this works out,” Minho shakes his hand again, walking to the door, bowing and thanking him for his time and efforts.

“We will do out best but, remember, this might take time,” and Minho should feel constricted but he feels joy instead at the perspective of another meeting, of calls late at night with rewarding news.

Minho checks-up Dannha’s Instagram.

It’s been a day but the modifications have already been done – Jinwoo must have some hacker abilities because he added pictures that weren’t there before: family pictures, them as babies with lovely captations and bright smiles, hands holding, waving with chubby arms at the camera. He had said that, in a week, they will leak it so people – mostly his fans, the target they are aiming for, - will take the lead and resolve that the girl in the picture with Minho was his sister. They have to: until now he has lost so many fans, has received so many hate and threatening comments – not the usual jealous hiding behind a keyboard, this time is accurate, real and he fears for his reputation to be shattered to pieces, that, after this, his career has to end with a stain that no time or effort can dilute.

He remembers the way he said “We are exclusive,” as if meaning something else, how he joked because the reality of it was too close to his core. He was properly stunned, properly whipped by his beautiful voice, the glint of his eyes, the spark burning inside his smile, the way he was immersed in his case from the start, the warmth that came from his lovely hands pressing his palm.

Jinwoo, the one standing from him, the one proving the truth when he is so defenseless, so merciless thrown to be consumed by the press, being ruined by a false stunt, globed down by something he hasn’t done. He has promised to do all in his power to improve his reputation, to let the truth shine on it.

He is thinking about him – on the past few hours he has been thinking about Jinwoo a lot, - when he gets a call. The ID number is unknown but his guts tell him to answer – he hasn’t given his private, personal phone to anyone other than his company, his family and Kim Jinwoo for quick access to contact him.

“Hello, I’m Kim Jinwoo! I have good news for you!” he says with a cheerful tone. “I’ve got the name of the paparazzo who sold your pics. I can frame him, buy them, see if he has more, maybe one from the front?” he explains, content and Minho’s heart thumbs fast at the information, at hearing his charming voice. “But first I want to know your budget and if you agree to this, of course,” he adds, gently, switching back to professional.

Minho takes five seconds – checks his bank account with one hand on his other phone.

“As much as he asks. I want to end this agony as soon as possible,” he says because this is a torment, he hasn’t slept since the press printed his face on all the national tabloids, not with his fandom divided, people hating him, people coming at him. But, beating inside his chest lays his name and the way his eyes twinkle and how warm his hands had felt on top of his and maybe he can endure it for a bit longer if that means hearing his voice, seeing him again.

“Ok, then. I’ll call you back with whatever I can get from this,” he waves his goodbyes and hangs up, leaving behind a smile blooming on his face.

With his allowance settled, he makes the call. It rings four times and then it’s answered by a rough voice.

“This is Kim Jinwoo, from LeeKim Publicists,” he introduces himself, though he knows the man on the other end of the line – he knows most of the paparazzi working for the tabloids, a lot of the journalist writing for the press.

“For who are you working this time?” he greets him with a hint of a smile. Jinwoo can see him getting up from an unmade bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, shaking the cobwebs from his head.

“Song Minho,” Jinwoo answers, cheerfully, pretending that what he is about to ask it’s nothing, keeping it light. “You were the one who took the shoots, right? Nice one,” he praises him even though they both know it was terrible – the quality, the focus out of place; it was even worse printed but it made a lovely headline all the same.

“Not my best work,” he says, laughing, and that’s good, that’s promising, “I was out of work, so I wasn’t carrying my good lends; I had to use my mobile and the camera, at night, does nightmares” he jokes, explaining the situation to him without having to ask, ”I just knew it was him. Like, who else would be with that hair and that razzle-dazzle clothes? And he was with a lady, that screamed good money,” he says, apologetic. Jinwoo knows that most of the paparazzi loath their jobs, but that the tabloids pay good money, “so I took a shoot and call it a day.”

“So, do you happen to have more pictures, perhaps?” he inquiries, expectant. At the other end there is laughter.

“If I had they would be printed already,” he says, humored. “I just saw them on the streets, you know?” he sighs, probably sensing that he won’t get any more cash out of it, “but if it helps you, I wouldn’t say they were dating. They acted friendly, close, but I observed them for a little since they were going on my direction anyway; they didn’t hold hands or act cheesy or anything. Weird.” And this is good, this could help – though Jinwoo doesn’t know how, yet.

“Would you say that in an interview?” Jinwoo takes quick notes on his computer.

“Well, I prefer not to but... I guess so, depends on how well you are willing to pay,” the man replies, “I know how this business works,” he continues and Jinwoo agrees with him, nothing comes for free – but Jinwoo has Minho’s money to pay for it.

“I don’t think we will go this route but it’s good to have you as a backup,” he explains, hearing the disappointment from the other side, “thanks for your time and sorry to have woken you mate,” he adds before hanging up.

“The Seoul Story, Koreaboo, AllKpop?” he smiles, entering Seunghoon’s cubicle.

“Are you asking which one is trashier or are you kidding?” he swirls on his office chair, relaxed, siping from his mug of tea. He smiles back, welcoming Jinwoo who is entering his office holding a file.

“Minho’s case,” he provides him and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m going to sell them a link and some inside information and wait for their article about him and his sister dating,” he jokes, “how is Seungyoon?” he asks, sitting on the desk.

“He is good. Getting too pampered and spoiled but, how to resist his pouty face?” and Jinwoo knows exactly what Seunghoon means.

“I’m glad he is getting better and that he has such a good boyfriend taking care of him,” he waves, retracing to his own space. Unlike Seunghoon, he has work to do, seeds to plant, a plan to take care of, someone to protect.

The Seoul Story contacts him five minutes after he has sent them the e-mail. They promise to analyze the Instagram account he has provided and to make a non-biased article if they find proves or something relevant, interesting to the public. It’s good enough for now – they have someone trusty on their side and, when they release the article they will get bucks from the tabloids because obviously they won’t leak the source.

Jinwoo scrolls down Dannha’s Instagram once more before giving them a green light to use it. He is not sure of how they will link all without revealing Dannha’s account or her name but he has faith. He would be taking anxiolytics if working with any other magazine but he is relaxed – maybe the herbal tea that has arrived at his office thanks to Minho has something to do with it. Minho was so excited when he released the state of things to him this morning that he went to get him a present as a proof of gratitude. It took a week but all is sailing well, going the way Jinwoo wants to.

He stares at one of the pictures he had posted on Dannha’s behalf – it’s one of Minho as a child, chubby and cute with squishy cheeks with adorable dimples at the end of his smile. He can see a hint of the man he has become, on the curb of his lips, the light on his eyes (intelligence, talent, passion). He chuckles at it and Seunghoon makes a noise between a cough and a strangled man dying.

“Whipped,” he snarls, stalking at his computer. Seunghoon has his arms around the chair, tugging him still and, just in case, he sits on top of him, his tights heavily sinking on his skin. “Look at this cutie, how he is babbling for Minho!” he pinches his bones and makes fun out of him as usual. “I hope you’ll have to seduce him, just to save us again,” he keeps joking and Jinwoo fights back but Seunghoon has a valid point – a point that sounds the same way his heart does whenever he thinks about Minho. It hasn’t been long but he has been updating Minho daily, calling him mostly – since he can’t work while under the fire. Talking about the case but also about how double standards is the society, how much Jinwoo has done to help others, about Minho’s music, about his family occasionally – he has asked about his sister, about what happened on this or that picture, just light and casual. “And, oh!” he exclaims, finding the shipping box, “he has sent you a present,” and his smirk gleams dangerously – Jinwoo wants to break it with a punch but he likes Seungyoon enough to refrain the urge to shush him up. “Whipped twice!” and he begins to sing “What is Love” with his high pitched voice.

“He is a client,” he points out, kicking his shin. Seunghoon springs and squeals but keeps on laughing.

“So I hit home!” he revels, all cheeky, “anyway, in no time he won’t be a client anymore. I hope you are ready for your confession,” he is so happy to be the one messing around he doesn’t care that he is annoying Jinwoo, that he is interrupting his work. “Oh, you were only daydreaming,” he points out when Jinwoo pouts and complains, “you have nothing to do but to think about him, which is adorable and makes me want to stay and witness how cute you can get while in love,” he teases him, friendly. He hasn’t been in love before – he hasn’t been in so many years, not after he got his heart smashed, not after engrossing himself with work. And he isn’t in love, he just finds Minho attractive – even when he shows up with the most random fashion choices, - funny, interesting, intelligent and kindhearted. He has talked with him enough to know – but not enough to fall in love. And so he tells Seunghoon because, otherwise, he will never leave – and mayhap he will be of some help. “Just ask him out,” he says simply. “That’s what I did with my puppy,” he grins.

“He is a public icon, I don’t want you to have to clean this mess,” he says, already thinking ahead, already analyzing, weighing the pros and cons.

“Just don’t get caught!” he recommends and, with a last smirk at him, Seunghoon leaves the room.

There is a torrent of comments about Minho. Again, he makes it to the front page but this time his name is followed with apologies, with explanations of what they have done wrong. The Seoul Story has released the article and it’s making numbers. Even shitty Koreaboo is stating that the girl they linked with Minho was found out to be his younger sister. There is a buzz of news and Minho finds that it’s easy to breathe. With his name cleared he feels alive, all that a few weeks ago was stolen from him is back – freedom, work, no more Jinwoo.

Jinwoo has urged him to do an interview, to show the public his side of the story, how disappointing all the situation was, how unfair. He hasn’t mentioned the supposed girlfriend – Jinwoo isn’t following her case, he isn’t interested in such a trash person. But Minho, magnanimously, has forgiven her – which only proves that he is a good man, indeed.

Minho sits on his couch – the one Jiho has gifted him, - and thinks on a way to see Jinwoo again. They have met a total of four times: the first meeting, then to provide him with the childhood pictures, another one to discuss the course the situation was taking and, the last, to prepare the interview. In total it doesn’t up to more than half a day together which saddens his heart – he likes Jinwoo’s company, he laughs easily at anything, he has an interesting point of view, has a pretty mind and he wants to get to know him better, get a chance with him, the one that makes his heart alive, beating beautifully, singing like a song he is about to write (a song about Kim Jinwoo).

He lets a week slip through his fingers before asking him out – for a dinner, a thank you for helping him with his own scandal, - but Jinwoo refuses.

“You are a client I just rehab. You shouldn’t be going out until the storm has fully passed; until your name is not associated with anything but music,” he remembers him, breaking all his dreams.

“Then come to my place,” he offers, smirking. “I have security, no way you will be caught up. Besides you can also say that you are visiting Seunghoon,” he adds, convincingly, cunningly.

“You live in Seunghoon’s condo?” he exclaims, surprised – he is already slapping Seunghoon for never mentioning it.

“You never asked,” Seunghoon, who is passing by, butts in.

“Why should I ask about him when I didn’t even know him?” Jinwoo wonders, looking at Seunghoon, ignoring for a second the man at the other end of the line.

“But will you come? I’ll cook!” he insists.

“Do you cook?”Jinwoo blinks, half-convinced, half unsure, totally amused by the way Seunghoon is cracking up.

“If he cooks?” he yells, excitedly, holding his laughter in, “last time we had to call the firefighters! He burnt his kitchen, needed to rebuild his house,” Seunghoon delightedly explains, “that’s how I met Seungyoon,” he adds with a smirk. “Nothing binds you more than three hours on the streets with a bathrobe”.

“So maybe I should... decline?”

“No, I won’t cook, I’ll get take-away, what do you fancy?” Minho is persistent and Seunghoon gives him a thumbs up, encouragingly.

“Just go, have fun. I won’t charge you if things end badly on the tabloids,” he promises between guffaws.

“Ok, meet you there at half-past eight,” he says, smiling like never before.


	2. Flowers for Armour

Flowers for Armour 

Jinwoo looks cautiously around just to spot two suspicious dark vans. He sighs. Paparazzi are already waiting to catch a glimpse of something scandalous happening to Minho again, to take a shoot to sell; it is annoying, disturbing – Jinwoo wonders how idols survive this kind situation, being followed, stalked on, all their lives suspected, thoughtfully examined.

As if Minho's name wasn't cleared already, as if it weren't them creating the mayhem on the first place – as if they didn’t have to apologize for the confusion, they are still there, guarding Minho’s house, seeking for another stunt, to get more views and clicks and money out of destroying someone’s name.

The night gleams with the flashes of cameras the instant they come closer to the door but they decrease until the air is quiet and the murmurs die again; Seunghoon presses the code and they come inside the condo.

"I'm glad you come with me, Seunghoon", he says to his friend while he opens the gate to the building.

"It's fun to be your fake alibi in case of need," he laughs, patting his back. "Minho's place is three floors up, if something goes wrong or if he tries to cook to impress you, just come to me. I'll kick him even if he is a nice fellow usually," he smiles reassuringly.

The elevator beeps for Jinwoo and he takes it to the sixth floor while Seunghoon jumps on the steps, two at a time, waving goodbye at Jinwoo.

“Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t!” he yells, laughing before disappearing up the stairs, turning around a corner. Jinwoo is left alone, waiting for the elevator to go.

The reflection on the mirror is distorted and he looks more tired than he was a minute ago. His heart is thumping loudly and all his body is sweaty with anxiousness, weariness to be caught up, to be a disappointment to Minho – he hasn’t allowed the feelings to bloom inside his chest, he keeps the seeds on the soil without watering them, waiting for Minho’s reaction, for when he will see his face again, up close, for real, not printed on a magazine. And the memory of his pictures displayed everywhere makes him feel dizzy, his head spinning, heart racing, the click of the elevator lifting too loud, like thunders, hammering, opaquing his own thoughts.

Not even working with shitty tabloids, waiting for their articles to come out has made Jinwoo so nervous – and this time it’s only his reputation that it is on the line. The door opens and Minho is there, a smile conquering all the corners of his face. Jinwoo can’t help but to mirror him, smile back.

“Come in!” Minho’s hand lands on his back, pushing him inside the house, “I’ve seen press outside, are you ok?” he worries once he quickly closed the door behind them. Inside, the bright light coming from the DayGlo baths every corner of the hall. It is impressive – big, colorful, vibrant walls painted in yellow and red and blue roses. He walks in as if tip-toeing, avoiding all the mess that it is scattered everywhere – cans and tubes of paint, brushes, and canvas, stuff he can’t decipher, a rolling ball of dust, lamps, cameras, jewelry. Jinwoo has never been in a famous person’s house before but he highly doubts they are like this one – total chaos.

“Well, yes, but I came after work with Seunghoon, he is my bulletproof-alibi,” he giggles, and Minho nods at him beatifically, leading the way through a maze of cabinets filling the hall, topped with boxes with accessories and shoes and other stuff he hasn't the time to look at. Somewhere must be a cat because, in one corner, there is a bowl with dry food and toys, but the animal is possibly lost in between all the mess that spreads all over the house.

“I swear that, usually, I don’t have paparazzi out. My house, though, is always in disarray. I have no time to clean, sorry,” he apologizes, looking around, putting some cans out of their way. “Give me five minutes to make room for you to breathe,” he jokes before leaving him alone in the hall. All around, hanging on the walls, he spots pictures and drawings. They all have Minho’s signature on them. He avoids yet another brush discarded on the floor and stans closer to examine one of the paintings. Jinwoo touches, gently, the gauge of the paint used – it is thick and rough acrylics. His fingers follow the contours of it, dancing on it carefully. He can’t put a name on the figure but he is drawn to it anyway – drawn to the shades, to the love he has bled to create it.

“I didn’t know you were a painter as well,” he says, breaking the stillness when Minho comes to greet him in, finally.

“There are many things about me that you don’t know, yet” Minho replies, smirking, a hint of something inviting hanging on the edge of his words that reels Jinwoo in. He wants to discover more about Minho, he finds him already fascinating, kind, amiable, and talented.

On the diner table lays a good stack of takeaway pamphlets as promised.

“Chose whatever you want, my treat,” he says, pushing them to Jinwoo. He reads quickly before setting for tapas – because the croquettes on the photos look very appealing and he wants to try it for once. “Do you like Spanish cuisine?” Minho takes the paper and dials the restaurant. “A full course of tapas, whatever it includes,” he says to the phone. He opens a cabinet, takes a couple of glasses and pours red wine on them, handing one to Jinwoo, sipping a gulp from his. It tastes bitter on his tongue, sweetening while drowning on his palatal. Jinwoo swallows and smiles, sitting cross-legged on the stool.

The make small conversation while waiting for the food to come. Jinwoo asks about Minho’s music and his parents, about how he has been coping with the stunt.

“If it weren’t for you, I will still be in the middle of it,” he professes, suddenly grabbing his hands. His eyes twinkle, staring into his soul, smiling at him with affection and a hide meaning that Jinwoo can’t grasp but that tilts at the end of his lips, at the curb of his mouth that he wants to kiss.

“It’s my pleasure,” Jinwoo blushes, his cheeks tinted like blooming poppies, soft scarlet. “I only did my job,” he stutters in a low tone, embarrassed to be thanked for doing what he has been paid for. Again, nobody has ever done that – nobody has treated Jinwoo to lunch or diner, not even coffee after he finished working for them, after restoring their fame back, after cleaning their names and reputation after exhausting his mind for them to shine again. But Minho is very different from other idols and actors and disgraced figures he has worked for: he is always thankful, always ready to help and to laugh and joke and he makes his heart flutters, trembling like butterflies on spring, battling against the wind. He wants to shield him from all harm and he doesn’t know him that well, yet. They have only been working together on his case for over two weeks and, yet, he feels overly protective of Minho – probably because he knows how the world works, how the press will try again and again to tarnish his name; they will scrutinize him for months, shit-talking about everything he does, annalizing all of his moves, all the people he is involved with; once someone has been a prey of their cobweb, there is no way out; they like to hunt the hurt, the ones that tried to defeat them: they like the taste of blood and the flavor of sucking out from others’ success.

The door-bell breaks the spell and the course of his thoughts; Jinwoo blinks back to reality, back at Minho who is looking at him with curiosity on his sparkling eyes.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he jokes, palming his back, opening the door. The smell of the diner spreads all around. When the content of the polyester boxes is revealed, Jinwoo’s stomach growls, hungrily. “Did you starve to enjoy this better?” Minho laughs, passing him a dish and chopsticks. They eat deliciously, ham and chicken croquettes, bread topped with oil and goat cheese, olives, Spanish omelet, octopus, and many other delicatessens that melts on their mouths, washed down with red and sparkling wine.

They talk for hours, sprawled on the couch, the heat from Minho’s skin warming Jinwoo’s core. They talk about life and choices, about paths to follow. Jinwoo has a glass of soju and takes sips from it, refilling it whenever it's emptied - and Minho suspects that he can hold alcohol pretty well because they have finished two bottles already and he is not slightly tipsy, his eyes are as clean as the moon coming in from the window. Jinwoo explains to him how he ever ventured to open his own PR agency with Seunghoon when neither of them has studies related to it. Minho discovers, shocked, that Jinwoo has a master in Communication Sociology while Seunghoon did Economics with Cum Laudem. They both met during their internship on publicist management. They excelled in it and agreed to open their own agency after a road of shitty jobs to save up for their dream.

“Not that I like it much, lately,” Jinwoo confesses, drawing another shot of soju. On the floor, a pile of bottles surround them. “I would rather do something else, something more helpful,” he adds, rubbing his eyes with his long, slender fingers. He looks tired, barely awake and Minho feels bad for keeping him on his flat, taking his resting time for another second to chat with him, let to know him more.

“You should go to sleep, Jinwoo,” Minho offers. “I have a spare room,” he says but Jinwoo refuses.

“We are not that close, Song Minho,” he lets go on a puff of hazed words. “Seunghoon would kill me if he discovers that I stayed with you,” he says while shaking his head, scattering his dreams away. Minho looks at him dejected. He really wants Jinwoo to stay – not only because he will worry about him taking a taxi back home deep at night, but because he wants to spend more time with him, hold him in his arms until his head rests on his chest and he can taste the perfume of his dreams, kissing his hair without him noticing, without being caught, feel the silky mess of his flocks, dark like chocolate, its flavor on his mouth, his fingers on his hips, circling on his skin reassuringly, calmly, just one heart-beat.

When Jinwoo stands up and begins collecting his jacket and hand-bag, Minho realizes that he needs to do something – something to prevent Jinwoo from leaving. He holds his hand, pulling Jinwoo to him gently and Jinwoo, startled, looks at him in surprise. Now it’s time for Minho to blush, silver and rosy, like an old picture, grey on the edges, shaded by the moon.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy and rushed but... I think. No, I know, that I like you. And I would feel better with myself if you stayed here, with me. Like, I won’t do anything like stalking you while sleeping, I promise,” he rambles, his hand tangled on Jinwoo’s, shaking, his fingers waving, electrified, sending its energy right to Jinwoo’s heart. He softens under his gaze, his bones melting at his words, his core a cage of hummingbirds chirping his name with delight.

“But if the press discovers this... that someone has slept in with you, it would ruin you for good,” he states, seriously because, as much as he likes Minho, he is aware of the risks, of what is it at stake – that Minho can lose everything and he doesn’t want to be the reason, he doesn’t want to be pointed and hated for loving him, he doesn't want to be the name that ends Minho's musical career, to spoil his fame with damp kisses that are dancing around them like gosht. 

“I think,” he murmurs, coming closer to Jinwoo, their hands still intertwined, “that you are worth the danger,” and his lips are so, so sweet caressing Jinwoo’s, his free hand curling behind his nape, pressing him in, gently, against his chest, where a new song is being released – a song for Jinwoo. It is so slow and so caringly, Jinwoo wishes that it never stops, that Minho will keep him here, forever, his lips grazing his, his fingers drawing on his skin, brushing the rim of his hair, tickling.

“I think,” Jinwoo breathes, “that you are crazy, indeed,” and kisses him again, diving into the sensation of being taken care of, held with so much affection, all the stars of the night dispelling because Minho’s light overshadows them. Jinwoo forgets all about his inquietudes, the hazard of being nabbed, captured on a picture for all the world to see.

They giggle between quiet kisses and they kiss for hours, sitting on the couch, talking, laughing, Jinwoo's forehead on Minho's neckline, fingers dancing, voices drowsy.

“You will be my most appreciated secret,” Minho promises once Jinwoo has to go. He rushes down to take a taxi, early in the morning, stealing one last kiss good-bye. The sun is rising but, even with the sky colored in ruby and orange, Jinwoo shines brighter than that, is warmer and sweeter and precious and Minho stares at him from the balcony, sees him run, entering the car, leaving him behind with a chain of lovely text messages already beeping on his private phone. He laughs at how silly it all is, at how his chest has expanded to hold Jinwoo, how his lips still taste like him.

Jinwoo forbids him to call while working but Minho leaves a trail of love-sick texts on his KKT for him to reply later – and if it is in person, the better.

Seunghoon sighs, opening the door of the condo for Jinwoo again.

“I bet Dispatch suspects that we have a relationship now, Jinwoo,” he closes it quickly behind and laughs, “we will make it to the front page on the nationals!” he pats his back ruefully.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the only safe way we have to see each other,” Jinwoo replies, sad, eyes on the ground, a trace of a smile whitening. Seunghoon smashed his shoulders.

“I’m kidding, I don’t mind. I told you that I would be your solid alibi and we are friends, of course, I'll help you in case of jam,” he ruffles his friend’s hair with affection before pushing him into the elevator. “Say hello to Minho. Or better, come over to visit, it’s been a while!” he invites and, later on, they will.

It’s been six months since Minho’s name hasn’t been on the press for other reasons than him releasing a new album – he has done photoshoots and interviews but all related to music and fashion and Jinwoo hasn’t had to worry a bit about him, tabloids haven't been underhanding him, there isn't a word degrading him. They have been meeting at Minho’s place, mostly using Seunghoon as a cover-up; sometimes they go to Jinwoo’s, risking that Minho will be caught up by the press though Jinwoo’s neighborhood is quiet and deserted and they are cautious. On occasions, Minho drops by the office to pay them a quick visit, to steal a kiss from Jinwoo before leaving, or to give them tickets for a concert they are obligated to attend to – Seunghoon drags Seungyoon with him and it’s fun to be able to hang out with them, to have a moment to breath fresh air, enjoying the moment with friends and Minho shinning on the stage. And, since Jinwoo is Minho’s publicist, nobody suspects much if he sneaks into the back-stage, if he presses his lips on Minho’s, brushes the sweat away with soft moans and his hands covering his flesh. It’s nobody’s business if they kiss and make out on the dressing room after the show, when the make-up artists have already gone, with the lights off and their mouths on. Sometimes they even talk about Minho's image, about ways to make Minho more friendly approaching since he still looks intimidating, hard, hazard despite that he has a golden heart. Jinwoo is introduced to Minho’s team and he works with them to develop a way for Minho to gain more traction, to be recognized by the general public instead of relying on his loyal fans.

Jinwoo is late. Out the rain is pouring and, due to that, the train was delayed. He shakes his hair, droplets falling from his curls. It is an awful day. The gloomy, clouded expression in Seunghoon makes Jinwoo shiver – the atmosphere is dense and he feels the chills creeping inside his chest; nothing good is coming.

The ring of the phone breaks the moment but the dullness remains. Jinwoo moves in a daze, picking up the call.

It’s Minho calling the office – and, like a premonition, Jinwoo knows that something is wrong. He turns the computer on, checks on his phone what is going on.

Minho’s name is everywhere, again. He picks the first article and reads through it, trying to make sense out of it. It takes Jinwoo four attempts to understand. On the other end of the line, Minho is talking to him rushedly, telling him that he doesn't know how this happened, that it's all false again.

“Just come over. Give me a moment to gather all the media outlets and the press coverage and we will plan a strategy,” he tells him, agitated. He wants to burn Dispatch for starting another baseless rumor.

This time it’s not a dating scandal. Jinwoo checks the social media and Minho’s pictures are all over the place, there are comments, threats, links, and crazy theories. Jinwoo reads carefully but his eyes are blurry, he has tears on them. He wipes them and washes his face, cold water dropping from his lashes. He feels Minho’s pain, his fears, the way this will affect him, his career, his reputation, everything he has been working for. And he has dealt with so much, nobody deserves to been treated this way, nobody deserves to be a headline for something that hasn’t even happened because Minho wasn’t there – Minho, who lives between his studio and Jinwoo, who barely goes out, dragged into a drunk fight on a club he once performed, months ago.

But the press needs fresh meat to get the netizens attracted and, does it matter if it’s all false? By the time Minho’s name will be clean again people will have moved on, not caring about the truth.

Jinwoo wants to punch something. On the secluded, small bathroom stall, he screams, letting out all his anger, his frustration, all the hate and allows the memory of Minho to greet him; a hug-able to melt all his worries, to leave his mind clean, only his name thumbing through the daze, though the nothingness, the void where only Minho matters. And he will get this right, he will make them bend to Minho, force them to be sorry for messing with him again – he will find a way to repay Minho’s love and kindness while protecting him, his fame, his talent that they want to waste, to suffocate (to stop the flames that are Minho’s songs that have spread everywhere).

Jinwoo is in his office when Minho comes in, his beautiful eyes rimmed in red, his hands shaking in rage.

Jinwoo holds him tight and sings his love for him that is eternal, infinite. He calls Seunghoon in and, together, they work on a sketch, something to release to the press.

For 24 hours straight Jinwoo is restless, his phone buzzing with news and calls and e-mails. He has found out the number of the owner of the bar where Minho was spotted. It takes him a while, he has to search on Naver because the press can't reveal the name of the place without permission. He has engraved inside his sight the pictures, the moment a blow takes down a man to the floor - and the man looks similar to Minho in size and constitution, the room, dark and somber, tricks the shoot, making it hard to define the color of the hair or the shade of his clothes. He makes the call, his head crumbled down, his heart with Minho, suffering the aftermath of it with him.

“I haven’t released any statement. Nobody asked me, one of my employers showed it to me this morning,” he says, embarrassed. “Of course I’ll do it, sir.” And it’s Jinwoo’s first smile. The sky is still covered with stormy clouds but there is hope at the end and he holds onto it.

Next, he calls for witnesses – in ten minutes he finds four (a waiter and three clients that were there). They deny Minho’s assistance.

“If Song Minho were there I would have asked him for an autograph,” one of them says, excitedly, glad to be of help. Jinwoo thanks them profusely before writing a press release. He stays the night in the office, working, missing Minho pressed next to him, his lips ghosting on his skin.

The next morning, though, AllKpop redresses the issue, saying that it was a misunderstanding, stating that rapper Song Minho wasn’t in the place when the fight took place and that it was a look-alike they mistook him for. The article is pitifully done but works in the end, Minho's name is not related to the dispute, the searching in Naver and social media are clean in a few hours – and Jinwoo swallows raw three anxiolytics, his nerves skin-deep; he hasn’t slept and he only wants to snuggle with Minho, feel the warmth radiating from his core.

It takes another day for the stunt to be dismissed finally but when someone else will be pinned by the media, everybody will forget about Minho's case – Jinwoo promises it to him over the phone, yawning, exhausted.

“This is how stunts work,” he says, barely holding the phone on his shoulder. “They raise, ruin and perish because another one has raised up and the cycle repeats itself,” he yawns again when he hears the bell of the door ringing. “Sorry Minho, someone is on the door,” he says, hanging up.

“Don’t need to hang up, hyung,” Minho gets in uninvited – but Jinwoo doesn’t care, he can come in any time, any moment. He drinks the distance between them, kissing him urgently, hungrily. He pins Jinwoo against the wall and his hands travel down his legs, his sides, his chest, grazing the place where his blood rise, agitated. “I have so much to thank you,” he grumbles on his ears. The light in his eyes is dark and dangerous, all lust and desire but when he sees the state of Jinwoo he holds him, drags him to bed, lays next to him, and safeguards his dreams as he has protected his life, his career. On his sleep Jinwoo mumbles some unconnected whispers about scandals and how he wants to shield him against them.

“You are too good to be harrowed by them, they are psychos,” and he cuddles next to him, his head resting on top of his chest, the thuds of his heart his lullaby.

“Shush, love, everything is ok now,” he murmurs back, kissing the top of his hair, feeling it brushing his skin. “You are so brave for standing for me, you are my armor.”

Jinwoo moves in with Minho.

Now the flat is tidy and clean, he has his own space to work on the weekends when he doesn’t go to the office but has issues to address, to catch up with. Minho, too, has his own room to paint, a gallery filled with portraits that reflects his endless love for Jinwoo – hanging on the wall there are four different paintings of Jinwoo over the seasons; a scarf covering half his face, hiding the giggles he was holding on, snow melting on his black hair. Flowers stuck on his lips, a clean sky, birds. Steps on the sand, the shore, waves wetting his feet. Red and orange, the sun glowing on his flesh, a coffee warming his hands, the drink touching his tongue that is poking out, teasingly. It is lovely.

It’s been a while since the press has been on Minho’s heels so it’s just normal that they leave their guard off; Jinwoo has his password to open the door and there is no way anybody could suspect they are together because they have been discrete, careful. And, yet, there is something bugging Jinwoo, fear at the end of his heart, beating through his mind.

They went out to have diner, to celebrate their second anniversary together. Minho refused to wear a mask and cap - ”It is a fancy place,” he had said. He was right, of course: the place was elegant and beautiful and empty, reserved for them alone. It was the perfect night, just them, soft music, bubble drinks, and wine and Jinwoo couldn’t wish for anything else with his hand twirling around Minho’s. And, then, there was a flash bathing his eyes. He dismissed it as a car passing by with the light on, reflected on the window but, after a second, it happened again, too fast to be what he was thinking first but too impossible to be what he knew it truly was. He had held his assumption until next morning, not wanting to rubble Minho’s happiness, the moment together that hardly happens nowadays with Minho working on his next album, and Jinwoo focused on a big scandal.

Jinwoo’s case is totally eclipsed by another one bigger, out of proportions.

Jinwoo's suspicion was correct: a paparazzo followed them, stalked them, and photographed them together on a romantic date.

For over a week Minho has to stay home, prisoner of his own feelings exposed, blamed, tarnished, disgraced by the press, by the whole population; he has to remain silent, not able to defend himself yet because this stunt is way too massive to be dispelled in a day. Jinwoo has to leave work – LeeKim S.L has been revealed to by his company and they have been camping there since then, Seunghoon has informed them. Minho has to delay his release, TV stations have banned him for scandalous behavior – which Jinwoo translated to him as being dating a boy. Fans are dropping him, the public opinion is in havoc, people insulting and degrading and trashing on Minho, supporters, and haters who take the chance to hate on him more. Minho’s agency, though, has released a statement apologizing for any kind of misunderstood but that they will always support their artist on whatever choice they made and, therefore, they won’t be firing Song Minho but postponing his album.

Minho is thankful for it, for having such a net of support. He doesn’t care about his fame or his name, not when, this time, it’s real – when they are saying what lingers on his heart, that he is in love with Kim Jinwoo and now he can finally, openly claim it, say it loud, go out without fears, without having to hide and pretend and act professional to keep up the facade.

“I’m not famous, they should have pixelated me,” Jinwoo complains, watching the news pressed against Minho. “I’ll sue them.”

“Well, you are so beautiful, can’t blame them for thinking you were an actor,” Minho laughs gently, squishing him closer, his arm thrown around his waist, fingers on the rim of his shirt. “This will end soon. I’ll go, hold an interview, tell them to fuck up and come back to you,” he says, making Jinwoo chuckle – and the sound of it is like angels singing; Jinwoo has been so stressed over the last days, worried and preoccupied about them being outed this way, being talked, thrown to the lions, nasty words related to them, staining their love, cursing it with every new article, with every news they release.

“You won’t, but thanks,” he says, his head falling on his shoulder, nuzzling on his collarbone. Jinwoo hasn’t been sleeping much, has been taking pills that make his thought funny, strangled, his head hazed.

“This is not how I wanted it to be,” Minho says softly, dragging the words with him as if edgy, uneasy – it makes Jinwoo spring up, paying attention, eyes big following Minho, - “but I’m glad that they know. I don’t want you to be a secret, hyung,” he says, a smile forming, his orbs gleaming, Jinwoo nodding, appreciating what he has said, appreciating the meaning of it, “I want everybody to know that you are my world, that whenever I sing about love I sing about you, the owner of my heart, my life and my soul.”

“You don't care about me being dragged into a stunt because you are used to it and you don't need me anymore. You can pay anyone to clean it for you," Jinwoo pouts, breaking the cheesiness that Minho has dropped “I have to rely on Seunghoon” he continues pretending sulkiness – but Minho knows better, Jinwoo is being playful despite how much it has affected him, how the scars are still bleeding, raw and open on his skin, the anxiety, the fear but he is pulling it back because he has Minho, and he is the only encouragement that he needs, who brings stars to his life, whose heart beats for him, who is holding his hands, staring into his eyes, staring into universes forming inside his pupils.

After this nothing will be the same but their relationship, which is rooting deeper, blooming like spring, spreading as the smiles twinkling on their faces, the happiness that they share and treasure.

"But I always need you," Minho says, gently, close to his heart. He rests on his shoulder, kissing his pulse, breathing on his neck.

His voices sound dangerous, his nose nuzzling on his skin. He feels as all his body relaxes, how all the tiredness melts away, swirling just by Jinwoo's hands brushing his hair. "It's been a hard week, rest well," Jinwoo murmurs, his lips on his forehead.

Jinwoo puts Minho to bed, undressing him with care.

“Don’t go,” Minho’s hand reaches out for his own and pulls him down the mattress. Jinwoo giggles.

“Ok, work later,” he gets rid of his jeans and snuggles next to Minho, all his muscles drowning into his warmth, his hands holding him, laced on his hips, his lips sweetly blowing on his forehead. He feels how the exhaustion from Minho is released to the night, his breath steady on his shoulders where it blows his skin, all the tension dissipating with his hands on his, rubbing it out of his bones, melting it with care and love. 

“As long as you stay with me, I don’t care about anything else,” Minho hums, half asleep, “just stay with me, please.” And so Jinwoo does, caressing his sides reassuringly, drawing hearts that sink on his skin, coloring his night with good dreams.

“The best movement is to attack,” Seunghoon explains and Jinwoo has to agree. “Minho should do a press conference and make it public, ask for privacy since it's a private matter who you date with and Jinwoo is not a public person, he can't be treated this way if they don't want to risk getting sued,” it is a good way to suffocate the scandal, with nice words and nice actions. Minho should do some charity work, too, so the general public will be soft on him, more lenient, – who can when Minho is going to sing in hospitals for sick kids? - Seunghoon hasn’t bothered to come up with a way to convince fans to stay. “If they deserted you when things turned bad, you don’t need them in your life,” he has said, wise words from a wiser man, and Minho has concurred with the idea.

“New fans will come soon once the album is out,” he has added, imperturbable, unbothered. He hasn’t lost much after all – his company has shielded him, stepped on to protect his reputation, and he has the best team of press managers available who had put nights and days to stand up for him, to shift the general opinion, to smooth up the situation, make it the best for Minho.

It is not easy, not when they are targeted and hated and, sometimes, followed on the streets. They have to move twice before everything settles down. Jinwoo has to leave his work as a publicist at LeeKim, has to sell his participation of the enterprise to his partner, and starts again somewhere else but he keeps in contact daily with Seunghoon and Seungyoon. Minho’s new album is heard everywhere which means that it is a success but also that Minho has to travel for concerts and shows and promotion on variety shows – he hasn’t been on TV much after the conference he offered, he hasn’t been working much outside of his studio, creating music, but that’s what he loves and his life is entwined with Jinwoo’s and he has love (from fans, for his music, for Jinwoo the most) and that all that matters to him, the TV stations can fuck off if they don’t want him for who he is, for who he chooses to be with.

Minho looks back at his life; it hasn’t been easy but he is lucky, so lucky to have Jinwoo, his flower, his windscreen, the one who shielded him when he needed it the most, when the world was cold and nobody was home for him, alone against defamation, against hate thrown at him incongruently, daggers and knives stabbing with words that hurt like gunfire and bullets. Jinwoo has been the one standing by him even when he was getting fired back by people with rotten hearts and poisoned minds. He never cared, he never minded, he was his armour made of flowers and smiles, soft, reliable, trustful, never letting him walk alone on a path made of ice and fire, a path that could get him down and up, a bumping road. He could have chosen different and, yet, despite everything, Jinwoo is still by him, hands holding, smiles growing old and beautiful. A shared love that burns brighter facing adversities, proving itself strong, worthy, forever.


End file.
